


Once Upon A Winter's Night

by softfawnangel



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: 1910s, Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Chronic Illness, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Forbidden Love, Hemophilia, Historical Inaccuracy, Imperial Russia, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Love Triangles, Mysticism, Non-Graphic Violence, Revenge, Russian Empire, Temporarily Unrequited Love, True Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softfawnangel/pseuds/softfawnangel
Summary: An alternate history where the Bolshevik revolution failed. Mainly just for my own fun, not gonna lie. Though I have based this off of historical facts somewhat, this is not mean to be accurate completely. This is primarily a drama/romance story, NOT a representation of what probably would've happened if the revolution really did fail.





	1. A Very Special Gift

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a prolouge sort of thing, the next chapter will have meat to it I promise. Consider this your hors-d'oeuvres!

The snow fell softly outside the windows of Anastasia’s bedroom. She stared at them in wonder, though snow was no new sign to the young Russian princess. She should be in bed right now, but she was too excited to sleep. Tomorrow night would be a ball like no other, and she couldn’t help but stay up.  
She heard footsteps outside her door and turned her head to the door, worried that it might be that strange, smelly man who was claiming to ‘heal’ Alexei. Rasputin had snuck into her room before, and she didn’t enjoy it when he had. He didn’t pray like she did-- if he even was truly praying. She could only hope that her mother or father was the person passing by her room.  
When the door creaked open, she jumped a little. No, no, no. It isn’t-- oh, thank goodness. It wasn’t Rasputin, her mother, or her father. It was her grandmother! She was glad to have her company, especially since she hadn’t seen her in an entire year.  
“Nana!” She hopped out of her bed and hugged her tightly. She couldn’t have been more elated.  
“Anya, shhh…” The aging woman put a finger to her lips. “You mustn't wake up your siblings.”  
The little redhead sat herself down on the bed, nodding. “Sorry Nana…”  
“It’s fine, darling. I came to give you a present.” She said. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand”  
Anya nodded, shutting her eyes and holding out two small, pale palms. Her grandmother placed a music box in her hands, ornate in design.  
“Now, open your eyes.” She said, allowing Anya to see the little keepsake.  
“A music box?” The little girl asked. She was already excited.  
“Open it, dear.” She encouraged, excited to see her favorite granddaughter’s reaction.  
Anya opened it, and it was like heaven to hear what it played. The lullaby she always got to hear when Nana came and put her to bed. She smiled brighter than the pure white snow outside.  
“Thank you! It’s the best gift I’ve ever received” Anya hugged her grandmother tightly.  
“Now whenever I’m away, you can play the music box and think of me.” She booped her granddaughter’s nose. “Now...good night.”  
“Night night…” Anya said, setting the music box on her bedside table. She played it that night as she began to doze off.


	2. Comrades

“Comrades, the time is coming rapidly for us to finally execute our plan. To make every man a king. In a mere week’s time, we will be armed and ready to overthrow the tsar and all his oppression!” Konstantin Vaganov said, rousing the revolutionary militia in a bar they’d rented (the owner being a bolshevik himself). He was one of Lenin’s second in command, and that meant rousing the troops when he wasn’t around. It was rumored that Lenin might be in some trouble with the Tsar. Konstantin was ready and willing to take his higher-up’s place if asked. He hated the Romanovs with a passion. He once worked as a guard there, and while the pay was quite alright, he held a deep lust for the Tsarina. However, Alexandra loved her Nicholas, and turned the guard away every time he even tried to flirt with her. This made him grow bitter and hateful. He always had known the children to be spoiled brats, and frankly thought the Tsarina was a bumbling idiot for believing that mere prayer could save her hemophiliac son.   
Gleb was the eleven year old son of Konstantin, and he was willing to fight as well. He wore a ushanka bearing the hammer and sickle during these meetings, intending to make his father proud. When was he ever? It always felt like he was one step behind, but maybe when every man was a king, his father would begin to respect him like he was a prince.  
In the back of the bar sat a rugged old man and his nine year old son. He didn’t drink, he just wore the hammer and sickle patch and sat with his son at his knee. This man’s name was Timofei Sudayev, and he was not a bolshevik, nor was his son Dimitri. He was taking down notes of the plan to overthrow the tsar, but not because he wanted to partake. These notes would act as a warning to the Romanovs, to prevent the revolution from ever succeeding.   
“Whatcha writin’, pops?” Dimitri asked his father, looking up at him with a curious expression.  
“A letter to the Tsar, Mitya.” Timofei explained in terms a boy his age would understand. Dimitri didn’t need to know that the bolsheviks wanted to kill the Romanovs-- especially not Anastasia. The boy seemed to be smitten with her, and kept the little chocolate card he got with her picture on it on his bedside table. He just seemed so enamored, and it really was cute.   
“‘Bout what? Can you tell him to tell Princess Anastasia that I said hello?” He asked, grinning widely.  
“I will, I’ll add it in at the very end.” His father responded, jotting down as many words of the plan that he could hear.  
Gleb seemed to grow uneasy as he heard his father speak of his plan.  
“The royals are only causing us pain! And so what shall we do, comrades? I say, kill them! Every last one!”  
“Father, I thought we were going to spare as many lives as we could” interjected Gleb, who couldn’t imagine killing at this age.  
“As many as we can, but the royals do not deserve their lives. They didn’t earn them” Konstantin snapped, giving his son an icy glare.  
“Sorry…” Gleb elected to keep his mouth shut, but his mind was racing with thoughts. ‘What if I really must kill the tsar and his family? I could never pull the trigger on a kid like me...for Pete’s sake, Grand Duchess Maria and I are the same age! Could I end someone who’s just eleven?’ He paced near the back of the bar, pondering this all. He didn’t like to consider such scary and sad thoughts, but here he was. He didn’t pay any heed to the boy and his father in the back. Who were they but quieter members of the militia? Seeing a boy near his age, he approached. He knelt down to sit by the boy.  
“Heya, I’m Dimitri!” The younger boy said, holding out his hand with a smile.   
“Gleb Konstanovich Vaganov, a pleasure to meet you.” He shook it. It seemed Gleb had a much more formal and professional vibe to him, while Dimitri was, for lack of better words, more of a street rat.  
“Oh, my full name’s Dimitri Timofevich Sudayev, but hey, Dimitri is just fine! Can I ask which one’s your dad?” He pointed to the crowd of adult males. He didn’t really think a boy near his age would come upon his own accord.  
“My dad’s Konstantin Vaganov-- the leader.” Gleb pointed out, although he was lightly ashamed. He didn’t want to be associated with the man who may be responsible for the death of innocent people. “I’m not...proud of it”  
“I wouldn’t be either. He’s kinda mean.” Dimitri commented quietly, shrugging. “Don’t tell him I said that”  
“Your secret is safe with me, Dimitri. Don’t worry” Gleb responded, giving the slightly younger boy a smile.   
Gleb rose again to return to standing with his father, understanding that he would wonder where he was if he was gone longer. His pacing and pondering could only last so long.  
Dimitri saw his father write down the last little part of the letter, and continued to watch as he slipped it into an envelope and wax-sealed it.  
“Now, go Mitya. Go to the palace and bring this to the Tsar. He will hear the children of his nation, and he will read that letter. Run, now!”  
Dimitri was quickly handed the letter. He stuffed it into his pocket and started his trek to the Winter Palace. Tonight, he thought he would become a hero. Maybe he’d even meet the princess he pined for! Who knows. All he could really know for sure is that he was about to do something big, bigger than ever before.


	3. The Sudayev Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018! Also, trigger warning: gun violence.

Dimitri ran for his life, out of the pub as fast as his skinny legs could carry him. He feared for his own life, and his fathers. There must have been an air of suspicion as to why he was leaving, much less running out the door of the bar. He could only hope his father would have a good cover story as to why his son of barely 9 years was running outside so fast.  
His knuckles were near white from gripping the precious letter so tightly. The words contained inside would likely be the direst information the Tsar would have read in a very long while. This letter had to get to him, by any means necessary.  
The running was beginning to take a toll on the boy. His breaths grew a bit more labored, and he watched them leave his mouth as he exhaled. The cold was so great he could feel his teeth chattering, bouncing up and down inside his jaw. This suffering would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Surely, he and his father would be crowned as war heroes of the highest caliber. Maybe with this honor his ailing mother could live in a comfortable home, with access to the medical care she truly needed to battle her illness—the deadly virus known as tuberculosis. He reached the great iron gate that encircled the Winter Palace. The Cossack guards looked at him questioningly.  
“What are you doing here, boy?” One of them asked, seeming suspicious of him.  
“I have an urgent letter for the Tsar—” Dimitri started. The guards laughed.  
“His imperial majesty doesn’t have time for fan mail, child. Go on home, your mother is probably worried.” One boomed between his guffaws.  
“This isn’t fan mail, sir! A revolution going to happen, you gotta listen to me! If he doesn’t get this letter, then the tsar’s a dead man!” Dimitri explained, worry in his eyes.  
“Child, don’t worry us with false claims. The tsar will be fine. With us hired, anyways” The guard took a swig from a flask hidden in his belt.  
“Please! I’m not lying!” Tears welled in the boy’s brown eyes. “I heard them, I heard them talk about it!”  
“If you’re going to be a little troublemaker, we’re going to have to remove you” Another guard said frustratedly, rolling his eyes.  
Just as they were about to, the tsar was out on a walk with his son, Alexei. The palace mall was a good place for the ailing child to stretch his aching legs. Alexei was 5, and seemed to wince with every step he took.  
“C’mon Alyosha, you can make it to the gate…” Nicholas said, holding his son’s hand. “I’ll carry you back, okay?”  
He looked up to see a fearful boy and angry guards. He scooped up Alexei and looked through the gates.  
“What’s all this?” The tsar asked, raising a thick eyebrow.  
“Just a little troublemaker trying to get you his fan mail” Grumbled the old Cossack. Dimitri shook his head fervently.  
“No, no, no your majesty! This is urgent! I need you to read it now!” Dimitri said, slipping his skinny arm and the letter between the rot-iron bars.  
“Let’s see here, then” Nicholas said, setting Alexei down so that he could read the letter—Alexei sat, of course.  
“So, there’s an assassination plan, eh boy?” He asked, his face growing more shocked with every sentence he read.  
“Not just that, sir. A revolution. My papa’s been spying on them in order to warn ya! They calm themselves Bolsheviks, I think” Dimitri was a child, so his understanding was somewhat limited, but he knew it wasn’t good when the Tsar’s family was to be killed in order for it to succeed. “They wanna make every man a king, but papa says it won’t work.”  
“This will be addressed as soon as possible. Thank you, young man, for telling me” He said, folding the letter and slipping it into his pocket. There were precautions to be taken because of this. “If this is true, you have done Russia a great service.”  
“It’s no big deal, your majesty. Just doin’ what’s gotta be done, I guess. I want you n’ your family to be safe” Dimitri replied, an expression of pure pride on his face.  
“You have certainly done the right thing. Now, run home and make sure your father knows that I’ve read his letter” Nicholas said, giving the young man a wave before picking up his son and carrying him back inside.  
Dimitri gave the guards a slightly cocky grin before he started to run towards the pub. As he arrived, he was met with the face of a very angry man: Konstantin Vaganov, and his son behind him.  
“We are not fond of traitors, young man” He said, gripping a smoking rifle in his hand. Dimitri’s heart dropped to his stomach, but in the cataracted eyes of the older man, it seemed there was an ounce of regret.  
“I’m sorry” Was all Gleb could utter. What his father had done, in his eyes, was unspeakable. He couldn’t believe he had bared witness to it. It was just sick.  
Dimitri’s shock turned into sadness, and as quickly as the tears filled his eyes, his body was overcome with rage. “No, you didn’t. You couldn’t have.” He screamed out in anger, his hands balling up into fists. Any lesson of ‘respect your elders’ that he had learned from his mother was about to be thrown out the window.  
“Traitors must be dealt with, Sudayev.” Konstantin replied, raising his gun to aim at the boy’s head.  
“Go ahead.” Dimitri’s lesson had been learned that day. He was no coward. He would not run from an honorable death—the death of a hero. “Let me go with him!” He sobbed, kneeling down on the ice. Like his father, he was ready to die for a just cause.  
Konstantin cocked the gun, but he couldn’t fire. Although Dimitri had shown more bravery than many of the grown men in his militia, what he saw in front of him was a small, broken boy—frail, fatherless and frightened. There was no way he could understand the consequences of his actions, or the gravity of his choice.  
“Go.” Was all he could utter to the boy, setting the gun to his side. A misty-eyed Gleb helped him stand.  
“Be safe, comrade” Gleb whispered to his friend, careful to not let his father see.  
Dimitri’s mind was racing. He would be the head of his house now, the one who brought home the bacon and the one who would care for his mother—who very well may not last through to the next year. His was essentially an orphan. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to fend for himself—he often stole himself a snack (usually fruit) from vending carts, and he was beginning to get good at tricking less intelligent Russians (or unwitting tourists) into giving him food or money. He was already a clever kid, but this wasn’t a hobby now. This was to be his business. He wasn’t to live the carefree life of a young boy anymore; he had to assume the responsibility of being a man.


	4. Broken

Tsar Nicholas was pacing his study, his most honored military generals sitting comfortably in upholstered chairs that had been around since the times of Catherine The Great. His concern was apparent.  
“So, your majesty, how do we approach this?” Asked the head of guard, Alexander Nabokov. “Have you confirmed that this is true?”  
“Sadly, there is an overwhelming amount of evidence to suggest so. There was one specific pub these Bolsheviks seemed to be meeting at, and I paid the bartender handsomely to confirm all that was written in the letter. In fact,” The Tsar seemed to have a sort of conniving smirk on his face. “He will be here in attendance to help us. Guards, bring in our guest.”  
An old man was brought in, cuffed with his hands behind his back. His beard was scraggly, and his nose seemed a bit big for his face. He was very unkempt, it appeared. He must have owned that bar for a very long time, for he had to be pushing eighty.  
“Tell us, Mr. Chbosky.” Nicholas started. “What all have you heard of these Bolsheviks?”  
“Every night, they would come in, order drinks and…and they would begin to discuss their plan” Started the old man. He seemed to rattle in his cuffs.  
“And, if you don’t mind telling us…what was this plan?” It seemed for once that the Tsar was more than comfortable with speaking to someone he didn’t know that well—possibly due to the fact it was an interrogation rather than dinner conversation.  
“Well, the plan was…. They wished to overthrow the royal family. They believed that every man should be a king” Continued Mr. Chbosky. “They said they would lay siege to the palace and—” He hesitated.  
“And?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “What would they do once they had captured the palace? You may tell me, Mr. Chbosky. I won’t hurt you”  
“They would kill you, your wife and…I can’t bear to say it.” The man seemed horrified at the mere thought of what their intentions were. “Your children!”  
Nicholas contained his rage as best he could. Deep down he was utterly seething. This was an insult to him and his entire family. He wasn’t as weak as whispers throughout his empire spoke, but this barely affected him compared to the fact someone intended on hurting his children. They were the light of his life, and anyone who dared lay a finger on them was worse than any insult that could be spat at him.  
“So, it is true.” He said, cracking his knuckles. “Do you have the names of those who inspired this…this…whatever you may call it”  
“Yes…” The old man was hesitant. Giving these names would surely result in these people’s deaths, but it was a necessary loss. These people were traitors. They needed to be made examples of.  
“Give me them. Now.” Nicholas’s voice was harsh and demanding. This was rare side that very little of Russia ever saw, and it was quite the opposite of the gentle and kind soul that most of Russia knew—though they would soon come to know it quite well. It struck fear into the souls of every man present in that room, especially Chbosky.  
“The leaders, they were…they were Vladimir Lenin…” The shaking man began, listing off every name he could think of. Maybe the Tsar would have mercy and not send him to Siberia for merely associating with those horrible men. “Of course, there was a young man, I think he was called Stalin? A boy of fifteen—a shame he got involved in this so heavily—Ilya Vasiliev. And…oh—Konstantin Vaganov.”  
“And these 37 names, these are truly the names of the leaders?” Asked the Tsar, ever stern.  
The old man merely nodded. Nicholas smiled, but it wasn’t as benevolent as usual.  
“Alright, now lock him up. We cannot risk anything. Find the men bearing those names and imprison them. I will decide what to do with them afterwards.”

 

Meanwhile, Tsarina Alexandra gathered her brood in the nursery. It was time to inform them of an incoming trip to Paris to see their Nana. She feared telling them that there was an impending assassination attempt would just scare them.  
“Alright my darlings, I have good news!” Spoke Alix, although she was a bit hesitant. She had to bear the news gently. Anastasia especially would ask many questions about this trip—even if she’d be super excited. She’d probably have to fully explain to the older girls, Olga and Tatiana, exactly what was happening. Aged 17 and 15 surely, they would be able to understand and grasp the situation.  
“What’s going’ on mama?” Asked Anya, who held her precious music box in her lap. She seemed to bring it everywhere with her, and never let it leave her sight. “Are we having a party?”  
“Oooh, a party!” Maria said dreamily. “Will I be getting a new dress? And jewelry?”  
The Tsarina shook her head, chuckling at Maria’s excitedness. “No, my dear, we’re going to Paris. To see your Nana!”  
“Yay!” Anastasia exclaimed happily. She knew well that she was her grandmother’s favorite, and seeing her meant lots of special activities for her.  
“Oh, Paris! I can wear pretty dresses in Paris! I’m going to get Svetlana, I’ll be riiiiight back!” Maria said, running to her personal maid. “Please pack my nicest dresses and ribbons, and don’t forget my brush!” For someone who was only twelve, she’d quite a big interest in wearing nice clothes and looking pretty. Alexandra thought it was adorable, and so much like her when she was a little girl.  
Anya called her servant and asked politely for her to pack her stuff, before turning to her mother and looking inquisitively.  
“Why are we going to Paris?” Anastasia asked, leaning in a little.  
“Yeah—it is quite short notice” Olga added. “It seems just a little bit sudden.”  
“Well, it was meant to be a surprise!” Alexandra replied hastily. “Your father and I have been planning this trip for months!”  
“You should’ve told us…” Muttered Tatiana. “We wouldn’t have spoiled it”  
“Hush Tatya” Olga said, pushing her sister’s arm slightly.  
“Whatever.” She responded coldly.  
“Girls, be kind. Set a good example for Anastasia.” Alexandra reprimanded, gesturing to the seven-year-old in the room.  
“Yes mama, we’re sorry” The big pair responded in unison.  
“I must speak with you two in private later. For now, find what you want to be packed, alright?” She spoke calmer now, standing up and brushing off her white skirt.  
Anastasia grabbed her favorite toys and handed them to her servant. “Make sure these are packed up, okay Klara? I can’t leave home without them.”  
She still held the music box, however, in fear she might not have it that night to listen to when she went to sleep.

 

Once the younger children were in their bedrooms, Olga and Tatiana met their mother for this “adult conversation”  
“Hasn’t she already given us the talk about the birds and the bees?” Asked Tatiana, crossing her arms.  
“Mama seemed much more serious about this than that, Tatiana. This is clearly dire—didn’t you see the pallor on her face? That wasn’t makeup.” Olga said, fiddling with the gloves on her hands. It made her anxious to see her mother so serious.  
“She’s just nervous to tell us who we’re betrothed to, probably” The younger of the pair shrugged, though the topic of betrothal did upset her. Her sweetheart was a commoner, a boy of her age named Ilya Vasiliev. However, he wouldn’t last long. Though his heart had changed the night the “Sudayev Letter” was delivered, it wouldn’t matter. Tsar Nicholas had no patience for these Bolsheviks.  
“I know that look…I wish I could help, Tia” Olga said sadly. She knew of Ilya, but also knew of the rules of marriage for royalty. There was simply no way.  
Alexandra walked in, her face remaining serious. She sighed heavily and sat down, gesturing for the teenagers to sit across from her.  
“Girls, I am afraid our trip to Paris is no simple surprise.” She spoke. “Your father and I have caught wind of an assassination attempt, and we must flee until these criminals have been duly dealt with.”  
“No, you don’t mean…” Olga was in shock, as was her sister.  
“It’s even deeper than assassination, I’m afraid. There were plans for revolution.” Alexandra continued. “They wanted us gone forever.”  
“What were their names?” Tatiana said, her hands balling up into fists. “I’ll kill them!”  
“Well, your father knows a few names—I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. They’re to be executed when their found” Alexandra said. “Quell your rage, it is improper of a lady”  
“Just…just tell me who they are!” The girl was at the edge of her seat. Olga placed a hand on her shoulder and made an attempt at calming her sister.  
“Tatiana, please…” She said, her voice soothing. “Deep breaths. They will be dealt with”  
“If you must know, the heads were Vladimir Lenin, Konstantin Vaganov, and Ilya Vasiliev, in that order of course. It’s a true shame too…Ilya was only Tatiana’s age” Alexandra said, remorse in her voice. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have him executed.”  
Tatiana could feel her heart stop. Ilya, her love, he was going to die. He was against her the entire time. She didn’t cry out, but sat there, her eyes blank. She could practically hear her heart shatter inside of her.  
Olga’s heart stopped as well, for her sister’s sake. Poor, poor Tatiana. She didn’t deserve this heartbreak.  
“I will be in my room. Thank you for telling me, mama” Tatiana said coldly, walking out of the parlor and up to her room. Olga could feel tears in her eyes, all for her sister.  
“Mama, Ilya was…he was Tatiana’s lover” She explained, hand cupped up to her mouth. “He was her first love…”  
“Oh…oh dear” Alexandra knew something about this would upset Tatiana, but she never expected something to this extent. “I am dreadfully sorry” Was all she could manage to say. She hugged Olga, for it was all she could do.  
That was the night that Tatiana changed. She lied on her bed and cried into her pillow, and as she cried, those shattered pieces of her heart would be put back together—with solid ice. She would never love again, and she would never let her sisters face the same heartbreak. She will never let a Romanov girl love a common man. It will hurt too much.


	5. Traitors

It was near blizzarding levels the night Konstantin and his men decided to lay siege to the castle. His rationale behind it was that the royal family wouldn’t dare run outside in such a massive storm.  
“The Romanovs are cowards!” He spoke to his crowd. “They will not run out in the freezing cold—they are too wrapped in their excess to care for those men who will fight for what they want and believe in. We are the workers, those who will shiver in the cold to please these imperialistic pigs! But no longer! For today, we shall take Russia and make every man royal!”  
Gleb watched his father, hesitation growing inside of him. He didn’t want to do this. The Romanovs, or at the very least, their children, were innocent. How were they supposed to know of the suffering the working class faced? They were so sheltered, away in their little nursery full of fine pretty toys, dressed in matching clothes and having tea with their mother that they probably hadn’t the slightest idea of what state that the country was in. He wished he could be there to protect these innocents—he was only the age of Maria himself. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live so richly. Their parents probably never let them be privy to the horrors that commoners lived in.  
“Father…we can’t do this!” He yelled. “This is murder! They’ve no clue what life is like outside the palace I’m sure!”  
“Gleb, they know very well. They laugh in our faces every day when they wear their diamond-encrusted clothing and drink fine wines! They know our state!” Konstantin did not want to scold his son in front of his militia, so he did his best to seem diplomatic.  
Ilya stood next to Gleb, nodding in agreement. “He’s right, Vaganov!” He agreed, putting a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “I have been in close contact with the Grand Duchess Tatiana for nearing two years now, and—she hasn’t an inkling of a clue as to what happens out here!” He stood bravely, unshaking in the cold weather. He was willing to defend what he believed in his heart was right.  
“Traitor!” Screamed the angered leader. “You are just like Sudayev! And you have corrupted my son!” Konstantin took up his gun and aimed true, shooting Ilya Vasiliev right in his forehead.  
“I will not tolerate traitors in my revolution!” He boomed. He roughly grabbed his son’s wrist and smacked him across the face.  
“Foolish child! Disobedient rat!” He screamed. “You are not worthy to be my son!”  
Gleb began to sob as his father pushed him to the ground. Konstantin aimed his gun, but once again he couldn’t shoot. That was his son. The fear in his eyes was just like the fear in little Dimitri’s eyes.  
“Get up boy. You will help me whether you like it or not.” He harshly got him to his feet and handed him the gun. “Tonight, you become a man”  
Gleb looked this man, this beast who could barely be considered a father, straight in the eyes, and dropped the gun.  
“You’re right. Tonight, I do become a man.” He said, before turning and running. As Bolsheviks took up their guns to shoot, Konstantin stopped them.  
“Let him be a coward. He will die in that blizzard. Save your bullets for the Romanovs” He said simply, before turning away from his son for the last time.

 

Anastasia held her music box close to her chest, nestled under layers of winter clothes. She was jittering, partially because of the cold, and partially because she was nervous. Something was definitely amiss. Something was being withheld from her knowledge, and if there was one thing she didn’t like, it was secrets. She felt that anything her parents knew, she should know. She was seven, almost eight! She was big enough to know, wasn’t she?  
As she walked out the secret entrance behind the palace, she heard yelling and saw a large crowd gathering outside the castle. She looked at it, then up to her father, who held her hand like he was holding onto dear life.  
“Papa, what’re those men doing outside?” She asked, pointing to them with her free hand—though she still gripped her precious music box.  
“They’re just angry at papa and mama, that’s all. They won’t hurt us, as long as we stay far away.” He explained, lifting her into the carriage with her brother. He hopped in afterwards, watching Alix and the other three girls enter the carriage directly behind them.  
“Why’re they angry?” She asked curiously. “You’re really nice!”  
“I don’t know why, sweetie, but the Cossacks are going to arrest them and make sure that they don’t bother us again.” Nicholas explained, pulling his daughter closer.  
Anastasia leaned on him, though her eyes were focused on the somewhat frosty window. The guards really were getting rid of that crowd, but she wasn’t focused much on that. She had her eyes on a boy who walked alone, away from the crowd of fighting guards and angry commoners. He seemed to have his own path—probably towards home. She said a silent prayer that he would be safe—along with all the other children who were alone in the cold that night.  
She yawned and eventually fell asleep, her leaning on her father, and her brother leaning on her. They had a long train ride ahead of them soon.

 

Anastasia slept through a good portion of the train ride as well, waking up periodically to start her music box to lull her to sleep again. She was excited to see her Nana, but even excitement only kept her awake for so long.  
Nicholas smiled, watching Anastasia and Alexei sleep peacefully in their luxury train car. Poor children must’ve been so confused about all the commotion outside. He was especially happy to see Alexei at peace while sleeping—the fact he wasn’t having too much internal pooling (due to hemophilia) must’ve been a sheer miracle. It helped him some comfort to see his children sleeping so well.  
Anastasia woke up merely thirty minutes before they arrived in Paris. Nicholas had woken before her, so now she had someone to talk to at the very least.  
“Papa, are we there yet?” She asked, bouncing her in seat, music box still in hand.  
“Almost, dear. Almost” He replied, smiling at his youngest daughter—secretly his favorite.  
“How much longer?” She asked, her energy seemingly boundless now that she was awake.  
“I’d say…probably a good forty-five minutes” He shrugged. He hadn’t a clue, truthfully, but he knew it wasn’t that far off.  
Anastasia sighed and took out some crayons[1] and paper to draw on. She drew often; pictures of herself, her family, of deer and princesses and anything her little heart desired. This was probably the best way to pass the time for now.  
“Papa, can you please play my music box just one more time before we get there?” She asked, looking up at him from her self-portrait.  
“Of course, honey.” Nicholas carefully picked up the music box and wound it up, playing her special tune as she drew. She drew a picture of her with her Nana, humming along with the tune.  
Nicholas thought the moment was so cute he had to take out his Kodak Brownie[2] to snap a photograph. His daughter was truly a precious thing.  
Finally, many crayon drawings later, they arrived in Paris. The servants carried the luggage out to be brought to the motor cars waiting outside to transport to the Romanovs’ Paris home-away-from-home.  
Anastasia ran out the train, looking for her Nana at the train station. And there she was, dressed all in mauve, excited to see her favorite granddaughter.  
“Nana!” She said excitedly, hugging her tightly. The old woman hugged back, though a bit caught off-guard by the little girl running at her.  
“Anastasia, how I’ve missed you!” She said, kissing the little auburn-haired girl on the forehead.  
These next few months were certainly to be exciting. Anastasia and her sisters, though they enjoyed their time in their nice Parisian home, got to go out often. Usually, Alexandra would take Olga and Tatiana shopping. Maria would beg to go with them so much that of course her mother relented, much to the dismay of Tatiana. Since the loss of Ilya, it seemed she hadn’t just grown guarded; she seemed completely loveless. She cared little for her younger siblings, and only slightly more for her parents and older sister.  
Alexei and his father spent much of the time in, except for when the Tsar and Tsarevich[3] absolutely had to make public appearances. Sure, he could have left Alexei with a doctor or nursemaid, but he wanted to be with his son as much as he could be. So, when Alexei hurt, he stayed in. He was doing his absolute best to be a good father to his only son.  
Anastasia, by far, seemed to be having the most fun. Her grandmother would spare no expense to see her happy. She visited the Eiffel tower, the Louvre, and so many boutiques it would make the savviest shopper’s head spin. This was really Anastasia’s time to be spoiled and doted on, and she relished in that attention. She remained grateful through all of it, however. She learned much of her good etiquette from Nana. She was always especially ladylike after a visit from her.  
It seemed that all was well for the Romanovs in Paris—so well you’d think they’d never leave. Eventually, however, Nicholas got word that it was finally safe to return.

 

[1] Yes, those did exist during this time period  
[2] Early personal cameras. The Romanovs were quite fond of them  
[3] Firstborn son of the Tsar


	6. In A Crowd Of Thousands

The return of the Romanovs to St. Petersburg was an event celebrated with more pomp than anything Russia had experienced that century—only rivaled by the 200-year anniversary of St. Petersburg being the capital of Russia. It was summer, now, and Russia hadn’t seen hotter days in quite some time. Anastasia sat in the back of a motor car—something relatively new in Russia. She sat beside her mother and older sister, Maria, and behind her other sisters, father and brother.  
The crowd that watched them was positively massive. It seemed the entire country was there to celebrate their return. Anastasia marveled at the size, though the heat was making her miserable. She fiddled with her dress, hoping to distract herself from the devastating heat.  
“Mama, are we gonna get to stop?” She asked, groaning a little. “I’m hot, and I need to walk around!”  
“Yes, we will. Maybe you can go out and greet some subjects too.” Alexandra replied, giving her daughter a light nudge.  
“Maybe.” Anya shrugged as the car came to a stop.  
“You’ve got ten minutes, okay? Go out there and stretch those legs!” Alexandra smiled and helped her out of the car. She was a short one for her age, but she still managed to stand out in that crowd. She wore a near pure white dress, accented with eyelet patterns on the sleeves and edges of the dress. The sash that was tied around her waist matched the one that was in her hair; a beautiful baby blue.  
There was one boy in the crowd who seemed to have caught her eye, and she had most certainly caught his.  
He was a skinny little thing, and his clothes were a bit dirty. He clearly wasn’t any little count or duke like the other boys his age who were so close to the car and the guards. He had to have been a clever one to sneak through those stoic and strict Cossacks.  
Anastasia couldn’t help but smile at him, and of course he smiled right back. He bowed, and she curtsied.  
“Hello…” She said, smiling softly at the boy. “What’s your name?” She asked.  
He took her hand and kissed it, causing Anastasia to blush. He was certainly a gentleman for a working-class boy.  
“My name is Dimitri. You must be Grand Duchess Anastasia!” He said, excitement in his cocoa brown eyes.  
“That’s right, but you can just call me Anya if you like.” She giggled a little, deciding to hold this cute boy’s hand. He was a little dirty, but she didn’t mind. He was very handsome, and more importantly, very kind.  
“Okay, Anya. It’s a pleasure to make your a... association? No, wait—acquaintance. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Anya.” Dimitri said, an awkward but also sweet smile on his face. Anya turned to see her mother beckoning her back to the car.  
“Aww, already?” She whined. “Okay, one second please!” She giggled a little. “I think I must say goodbye, Dimitri”  
“Not yet, princess. We’ll meet again someday” He kissed his ‘temporary girlfriend’ on the cheek. “I promise!”  
Anya turned beet red and returned his little kiss. She knew something was special about this boy, and she somehow knew deep down that they really would meet again.  
“I’ll wait for you!” She said, waving goodbye as she ran back to the car. “Goodbye!”  
“Bye…” He waved slowly, a dumb grin on his face. He’d been kissed by a princess.

 

Anastasia got into the car, a wide smile on her pale face. She seemed happier than ever, but as she turned to look at her mother, her expression seemed mature—rare for Anastasia, who was known quite well known for being more immature than her sisters tended to be.  
“Mama, do you believe in true love?” She asked, her voice sounding innocent and sweet.  
“Well, of course I do. I don’t think I would’ve met your father otherwise. Why do you ask, darling?” Alexandra responded, puzzled by her daughter’s question.  
“I just think I’ve met mine, that’s all” Anya giggled as they drove away, still replaying the moment she met Dimitri in her mind. She couldn’t have been more in love-- even if it appeared as mere childhood infatuation. Something special was to be made of this.

 

Dinnertime was family time in the Romanov household. It was really the only meal they ate together, considering Maria, Anya and Alexei always ate breakfast and lunch in the nursery, while Olga, Tatiana and Alexandra usually ate out on the terrace during lunchtime. It was always somewhat sacred to them—not in the religious sense, but more in the sense that it was just special.  
“It’s good to be home,” Alexandra commented, smiling as she was presented with her dinner. “Isn’t it, Nicky?” She looked to her husband.  
“Oh, yes, it is” He smiled and looked at the food, eager to start eating. They’d made his favorite; prime rib.  
Anastasia was eager to eat and tell everyone about her day, how she’d met her “future husband” and show off her little crayon drawings of him. “Mama, can I—”  
“We must say grace, Nastya” Alix reminded, putting her hands together in prayer. The rest of the family did the same.  
Everyone prayed as asked, though Anya spoke quickly. She wanted to get on with it, so she could talk about what was exciting her so much.  
“Amen” Everyone spoke in unison, and as soon as the prayer was ended, everyone was digging in to their delicious meal.  
Anya ate as fast as she could. She was hungry, not to mention if she finished her food she could talk more.  
“Anastasia, eat your food nicely,” Her mother instructed, sighing a little. “You’re a lady!”  
“Sorry mama, I’m just…really happy!” Anastasia said, only half-apologetic.  
“Even if you’re happy, you mustn’t forget your manners. It’s improper of a princess like yourself” Alix retorted. “Still, I’m happy that you’re happy!”  
“So, I can assume by that you had a good day, Anya!” Nicholas added. “How about you tell us about it?”  
“Well I met my true love!” Anastasia smiled brightly.  
Nicholas let out a laugh. “Ah, I remember when I first met your mother. What’s the little count’s name?” He asked.  
“Dimitri!” She said dreamily. “He’s a dream come true!”  
Maria laughed as well. “Ooh, Anya had a booooooyfriiiend!” She teased, poking Anya’s shoulder.  
“Well, yeah!” Anya giggled. “I guess I do!” She pulled out a drawing she’d made of the boy. He wore the clothes she’d seen him in when they first met—clothes of a common boy. She handed the drawing to her mother and father.  
“How cute!” Alexandra said, looking at her drawing. She paid no mind her the fact Anya had drawn him in common clothes. She just assumed that it would be a fleeting crush, and nothing more.  
Nicholas seemed a bit more uneasy. He saw that glimmer in Anya’s eyes—this was going to last.  
“Why’s he wearing working clothes, darling?” He asked, masking his worry with a curious tone.  
“Well, that’s what I met him in. He had a little bit of dirt on his clothes, but it’s probably just because he plays outside a lot” Anastasia responded, shrugging. She knew he was a commoner, she just didn’t really care. Cinderella was but a common girl before she married prince charming!  
“Ah, I see. Well, I’m happy you made a friend, Nastya” Nicholas smiled and patted his youngest daughter’s head, handing her the drawing back.  
“Mhmm!” She smiled and finished up the last part of her dinner. “May I please be excused?” She asked, looking up at her mother. She got a simple nod in response.  
“Go get ready for bed, alright?” Alexandra reminded as Anya walked off.  
After she had a little more playtime in the nursery, Anya took her bath and went to her room to go to bed. Alix stood just outside, to make sure she was actually going to sleep. She peered inside.  
Anastasia knelt down in front of her bed as she always did to say her prayers. She said them every night without fail, but tonight was special.  
“Dear God…bless Papa, Mama, and my siblings…and Nana…and all of Russia. And God, bless Dimitri too. Amen.” She made the sign of the cross and hopped into bed, falling asleep quickly.  
Alexandra couldn’t help but feel that Anastasia really was in love. She was so young, she didn’t think it was possible. But there she was, praying for a boy she barely knew like he was a part of the family. She couldn’t deny her baby really was in love, or at least deeply infatuated with this boy. Her heart ached a little for her—a common boy could never marry a grand duchess like her. She sighed a little and whispered a soft “good night” to her little lovestruck daughter.

 

Dimitri had recently moved in with his uncle, Vladimir Popov and his aunt, Olya Popov. They were siblings—Olya hadn’t any interest in marrying, and Vlad had eyes for someone else entirely (plus, incest wasn’t his thing for sure). Dinner was an ordeal, certainly. Olya’s cooking was certainly…unique. She had a way of cooking borscht, which was already disgusting, to make it taste even more gross. Dimitri politely pushed the bowl away from him. He wasn’t hungry anyways.  
“So, Dima, tell us about your day.” Vlad started, giving him a smile. He knew how hard it was to lose a family member. Timofey was the greatest brother-in-law a man could ask for.  
“Well, I met the Princess Anastasia.” He said, surprisingly calm. “She kissed me on the cheek.”  
“You’re kidding” Vlad said, surprised Dimitri was being so calm on the subject. He’d been very interested in the royal family since his father had passed. They were only safe because of his father and him, essentially.  
“Nope!” Dimitri smiled. “I’m gonna meet her again someday. I don’t break a promise to a princess!”  
Olya rolled her eyes. Dimitri didn’t really expect to be let near a princess, did he? He’d get himself killed.  
“Now, I would be careful about who you make promises to—and I’d also be careful of biting off more than I can chew.” Olya said. “It’s hard to just waltz up to a castle and ask for an audience with the princess.”  
“I know, but she’d let me in! She’s the sweetest, most beautiful and kind person in the world!” Dimitri’s eyes glimmered with a new sort of happiness, one Vlad and Olya hadn’t seen in him before. It was love.  
“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, Dima” Vlad said, patting the boy’s head.  
Dimitri smiled and got up from the table. “I’m gonna go ahead and go to sleep, if that’s okay.”  
“Alright. Goodnight, kiddo.” Vlad said.  
Once Dimitri was upstairs, Olya sighed,  
“He didn’t eat his borscht.” She commented. “That girl’s keeping him from eating.  
“No, it’s actually because your borscht tastes like blood and cardboard.” Muttered Vlad. “Let the boy be happy, will you?”  
“I’ll let him be happy, but I don’t want his hopes to get too high. He’ll break his own heart if he expects a Grand Duchess of all Russia to have any interest in him” Olya commented.  
“He’ll forget about it, don’t worry. At least, he’ll forget about his crush—not the moment itself. Just let him love.” Vlad responded, having a small ounce of hope for the boy. He could date Lily (kind of) couldn’t he? He saw no reason why Dimitri shouldn’t be in love.


End file.
